Goner
by Tinsadisaster
Summary: After a year of silence, Peeta reaches out to Katniss and makes her realize that when it comes to him, she was and always will be a goner. Post Mockingjay, pre-epilogue.
1. Gifts

**Goner**

_By Tinsadisaster_

**Summary: ** After a year of silence, Peeta reaches out to Katniss and makes her realize that when it comes to him, she was and always will be a goner.

**Author's Note: **

While I was driving to the local gym, I was hit with a plot bunny that resulted in this story. I've been on the FF site for years now, but this is my first Hunger Games fanfiction ever.

If this story has somehow been done before, I apologize. I am not trying to infringe on anyone's ideas. This is my honest take on Peeta and Katniss's relationship post-Mockinjay, pre-epilogue. Be prepared for a lot of drama, emotion, and grammatical mistakes.

Our little Mockingjay is a fighter, especially when it comes to the Boy with the Bread. If you're looking for a weak protagonist, you're in the wrong place, buddy.

Oh yeah, also because I say so, Katniss and Peeta returned to District 12 together. I can't remember if they actually did in the book, but I decided that for the sake of this story, they did. So deal with it. Booyah.

_**Enjoy and please review!**_

* * *

_Turn it inside out so I can see_

_The part of you that's drifting over me_

_And when I wake you're – you're never there_

_And when I sleep you're – you're always there_

_You're everywhere_

_Michelle Branch – Everywhere_

* * *

**I. A Ghostly Gift**

I stare at his figure retreating in the distance and I wonder what surprise he has left for me today. I watch him silently and wait until I am certain he's back in his own house before I creep up to my front door and open it.

Some days Peeta Mellark leaves me baked goods. Other days, he leaves me paintings. Ever so often, he leaves a note. They're brief and boring, but they're personal. I devour the baked goods and stare at the paintings for hours before I hide them in one of the guest rooms in my spacious house. When he leaves notes, I leave them in my pocket for the entire day and wait until I go to sleep to read them. My fingers draw out every line, wondering how many pieces of paper he trashes before he was content with this version of his innermost feelings.

This is what my relationship with the Boy with the Bread has been for the past few months. It's been a year now since we've both returned to District 12. Haymitch returned because his house and his stash of hard alcohol was here. I returned because I was deemed a "crazy lunatic" and forced to come back. I'd like to think Peeta returned because he wanted to be near me, but I'm pretty sure he just didn't know where else to go.

We haven't spoken since the train ride that brought us home. Even then, it was a short conversation. He asked to hold my hand and I obliged. His fingers weaved in-between mine. I warmed up as if I had just taken one of those Capitol showers.

"What's going to happen to us, Katniss, once we go back?" he asked, staring at me with those kind eyes. I knew in that moment, that the real Peeta was talking to me, not the one tainted by the Capitol's poison.

"I don't know, Peeta," I replied. His face sank and he started to detangle his fingers from mine. Without another word, he stood up and left our compartment. I didn't see him again for a while.

I was losing the Boy with the Bread all over again.

* * *

When I still lived in the Seam, before the Capitol's Hunger Games drastically changed my life, time was always against me. Every morning, I had to make sure Prim ate something and looked presentable for school before heading out to hunt with Gale. We made sure to hunt efficiently so we could appear at the right time on the right people's doorsteps in the Merchant section of District 12. We didn't stay long in the Merchant section because I had to return home to surrender whatever I hauled in for the day to my mother, who always managed to make a meal that filled our bellies. Then we would all go to sleep and wake up the next day, restarting our routine.

My mother lives in another district now. She calls me on the phone from time to time, to make sure I'm still alive. She keeps telling me that she'll come to visit, but I always tell to not bother. This is our relationship. In the back of my mind, I still hold a grudge against her. Dr. Aurelius tells me that I should learn to forgive her and to try rebuilding the connection between her and I. I told him that I was the Girl on Fire; I didn't build bridges, I burned them down.

I didn't mind my mother's absence in my life so much, but Prim's death has affected me in ways I still cannot comprehend. I have nightmares still, involving fires and explosions and her cries for help. I wake up gasping for air, tears streaming down my face, and her name dying on my lips. They used to be reoccurring, especially during the first few months after returning to District 12. After some drunken bonding with Haymitch and real counseling from Dr. Aurelius, as well as some Capitol-mandated drugs, I've managed to keep them at bay.

Dr. Aurelius recommended gardening as part of my therapy. He told me to plant primrose seeds and to tend to them. I told him to send me stronger drugs. He obviously ignored my request and sent me seeds instead of pills. I've hidden them in some drawer in the kitchen.

She will always be on my mind and I'm slowly learning to accept that. When I think of small details particular to her, like her braids, untucked blouses, or her love for that mangy cat Buttercup, I stop what I'm doing, sit down, and give myself time to breathe. Sometimes the moment passes and I pick myself up and try to continue on with my day. Other days, her memory hits me like a train and I'm left breathless and crawling for control of my body and mind. I'm getting better, I think.

These are the moments that I find myself needing Gale or Peeta the most. Gale calls once in a blue moon to check up on me and to make everything more awkward than it originally was. I love Gale as a friend, but his possible connection to Prim's death makes my heart painfully swell up in my chest. I will forgive him one day, but today's not the day; and just to pull from personal experience, my track record for forgiveness is notoriously terrible.

And Peeta, well, I've already told you about Peeta.

The only relationship that hasn't changed is the one I have with Haymitch. The great thing about Haymitch is that he's a simple man. If you don't tell him what to do with his life (and his liver), he won't bark at you or bite you. We're similar in that way. Some nights, when I'm tired of being by myself, I walk over to his house and join him in one of his drunken stupors. I try to limit these instances, because I can't stand the sickness that comes in the morning after going shot for shot with my alcoholic mentor.

I try my best not to stare at Peeta's house as I walk to Haymitch's, but more often than not, I peek to see if there's a light in the windows, indicating that he's up. Some part of me wishes he would stop whatever he's doing and join me, but I know that's not ever going to happen. Not when he hates me as much as he thinks he does.

Similar to how I've felt about my mother for years, I know now how much it hurts to be so close to a person and to be so far away from them at the same time. I wish there was a simple solution to this mess, but there isn't. This is my life now, full of complications and holes waiting to be filled again.

I'm glad that the depression and post-traumatic stress hasn't completely gotten the best of me. I may be broken, but I'm not a goner. I've fought against the odds ever since I could remember, and I've managed to win every time.

_Except with Peeta_. He is a prize I'll never claim. I don't know his rules and I can't make up my own. He controls the game and I am just a pawn.

* * *

A square canvas sits face down on the top step of my porch. My weary bones come to life as I walk towards the gift and grab it with tingling fingers. I hold my breath as I slowly turn it over.

Peeta has painted me a few things already. The first painting he gave me was of Rue; she looked angelic and peaceful, twirling in a field of flowers. The second painting was of Prim and I admiring the cake designs in the Mellark's bakery front window display. The last painting was of a Mockingjay in flight.

We haven't exchanged a word in a year, but he still speaks to me. He tells me how he's doing, through his notes. He lets me know he still cares about my health when he provides baked goods. His paintings hold their own special meaning. I always hope for a painting, but a cheese bun is just as good.

I wonder whom he has painted for me today. It might be our dear friend Finnick or my former stylist and friend Cinna. It might even be Gale.

My eyes meet the bright greens, muted grays, and muddy browns etched intricately on the small canvas. I'm instantly drawn to the object in the foreground though. I gasp.

There, bending to the will of the imaginary wind, is the dandelion that gave me hope of survival and life, a memory from so many years ago.

His message is clear.

"There's still hope for us," I whisper to myself. Emotions flood my system all at once. I don't know what to feel so I feel everything.

I finally notice I'm crying when I see my tears dropping on the canvas. I don't care.

However, I suddenly realize I'm not alone. My ears pick up the distinct sound of boots dragging and crunching on the gravel in front of my house and the voice of a ghost calling out my name.

"Katniss."

Before he can say anything else, I rush inside my house and lock the door, gift in hand.

My message is clear.


	2. Departure

**Goner**

_By Tinsadisaster_

**Summary: ** After a year of silence, Peeta reaches out to Katniss and makes her realize that when it comes to him, she was and always will be a goner.

**Author's Note: **

I finally had time to finish up this second chapter this Memorial Day. Thank you to the all the men and women in uniform who ensure our freedom!

Thank you also to my first Hunger Games fanfiction reviewers:

_MtnDew26_

_Irishmauve_

_Penandquill_

_dot-exotic_

_moonmagnet_

_Daisygirl4967_

_Owlsk8r_

_sunburst-street_

_LadySnape88_

_**Enjoy and please review!**_

* * *

Try to bury my troubles away,

Drown my sorrows in the same way,

Seems that no matter how hard I try,

It feels like there's something just missing inside.

Oh Lord, what can I say?

I am so sad since you went away.

Time time ticking on me,

Alone is the last place I wanted to be.

**Brandi Carlisle** – _"What Can I Say"_

* * *

**II. Departure**

"You're only torturing yourself, boy," Haymitch warns me as I tell him my latest plan to strike up a conversation with Katniss.

"I know, I know … but I've got to try to get to her somehow. She won't talk to me and I don't know why," I reply.

I twirl the painting in my hand, watching the greens and yellows disappear into blurs with each flip. She once mentioned the story of the dandelion in the schoolyard to me. At the time, she said I reminded her of the dandelion, her personal symbol of hope. It seemed fitting to remind her again.

Haymitch grunts and takes a gulp of his glass of whiskey. I can smell the stench of strong liquid from my seat at his table. Empty bottles and cigarette butts cover nearly every inch of the mahogany table. If Effie saw this mess, she would surely kill my mentor once and for all.

"Give up. Move on. She's not going anywhere, and neither are you, if you keep pursuing her," he suggests yet again.

I sigh. We've had this conversation before. Nothing has changed since the last time I bothered him about this.

"I'd like to, but every time that I try to create some distance, my head goes haywire. It feels like just the thought of her triggers some tornado in my mind. I hate her for making things so hard on me, as if I didn't have issues to deal with already," I tell my mentor. I look down at my prosthetic leg and I shake my head.

"If you hate her so much, then forget about her and leave her alone!" Haymitch slurs. He drains his glass and wiggles around in his seat. His eyes glance over all the bottles, looking for some remaining liquid to consume. I wonder how he can possibly see properly at the moment. Any other man would be passed out on the floor by now. I stare at the clock on the wall; it reads 8:09 am.

I wonder if Haymitch has just started drinking, or if he's just finishing last night's solo drunken party. For the millionth time, I feel a mixture of pity and disgust at my mentor's less-than-sober state.

"I have tried to stay away from her, Haymitch. I haven't spoken to her since the train ride that brought us back here, over a year ago."

I look at the glass in my hand. It's still somewhat full of dark liquid. I have planned something drastic today, involving Katniss. I thought that a little liquid courage would help me go through with it, but my stomach is in knots and I can't bring myself to raise the cup to my lips.

"You're so far gone that you can't find your way out, Mellark. If you're not going to drink that, give it to me. You're wasting my liquor and my time," Haymitch complains as he swipes the glass from my hands. He spills some of the liquid on the table. I'm surprised that he doesn't start licking the table in desperation.

"I know she comes over here to see you sometimes. I see her walk over here at night," I confess. "Does she talk to you … about me?"

"If you want to know what she's thinking, just go _talk to her_. Get out of my house and go over there and get it over with! … And also, when she rejects you and runs away, don't you dare come crawling back over here … unless you have more alcohol for me. Otherwise, stay the hell away from me, Mellark."

"You're so sweet, Haymitch. Alright. See you later then," I say cheekily as I tuck the painting underneath my arm and see myself out of his house in Victor's Village. I laugh as I hear his drunken roars from outside. He screams something about "_these kids and their fucking emotions_."

The laughter is quickly replaced by anxious fear as I stare at the gravel road in front of me. Suddenly I feel like I'm back in the Hunger Games arena. The Game Master is counting down from ten. My muscles tense and the knots in my stomach have decided to explode all at once.

_10… 9… 8… 7..._

I can see her house in the distance. It's not that far of a walk, but my legs feel heavy like lead as I take a step closer to her house. I've made this journey many times before, but repetition hasn't changed how difficult this walk has always been. The painful memories of rejected attempt after rejected attempt chip away at my quickly dissolving confidence. I need to hurry up.

_6… 5… 4…_

_You can do this, Peeta. You're strong. You can push your way into her house. You just need to get her to open the door. You just have to surprise her._

_3... 2... 1…_

By the time I've made it to her porch, I've lost my resolve. I was going to knock on her door and force my way into a conversation, but it's too late and I'm too sober. I drop my gift on the top step of her porch. I wait a second longer than necessary, hoping that maybe, just maybe, she'll come out of hiding and make the first move.

The second passes by.

I sigh and make my way back to the gravel road. Disappointment clings to me like an unwanted lover desperate for attention.

All I want is for her to talk to me, even if it is just to tell me "Go away, Peeta."

Maybe then I could finally do exactly that.

* * *

I was there, when they officially claimed her a lunatic and told her to go back to District 12.

At the time, I was half angry that they were punishing her. The other half of me was angry that I wasn't able to speak up during the trial to contribute to the charges made against her. I had incredible stories to tell about the Girl on Fire. I was, after all, her former lover and father of her nonexistent child. She ruined my life and the lives of those I loved. Hell, she even ruined the potential life of an imaginary fetus.

Katniss Everdeen was a monster, in my eyes.

I continued to stare daggers into her back, but I got distracted by the way the sun hit her braid.

My thoughts went in a different trajectory. I suddenly remembered the days when she wore two braids, the afternoon I had thrown burnt bread in her direction, and after, how she always looked at me from across the schoolyard as if she had something important to tell me.

I remembered the way her rough but small hands fit into mine as we held onto each other for dear life during the chariot ride in the 74th Hunger Games. I remembered how my heart thumped in my chest as I revealed that I loved her to the entire Capitol. I remembered how real the moment was. I remembered her words on the train ride home, in the moments before we had to hold hands and make like lovers in front of the cameras and crowds of District 12.

I remembered everything. My hallucinations, shimmery at the edges, have slowly been replaced with darker moments, real moments. How did I know this? My fingers tingled, as if my nerves had been electrified, at the memory of holding her hands. My lips felt warm at the memories of our many kisses, both real and not real. My heart leaped out of my chest as I looked at her, seeing the little girl who had been my first crush. But the young woman on trial was not that little girl.

"Katniss Everdeen!"

The judge's raised voice brings me back to reality.

"After much deliberation, the Capitol Court has decided that you must return to your original district, District 12, and remain there until notified. You may not step foot outside of the boundaries of District 12, without permission or advanced warning. If you do, we will hold a second trial to re-evaluate your sentence. We won't be as compassionate and considerate next time, Ms. Everdeen. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Katniss replies.

"We will evaluate your case in a year's time. Our court appointed psychotherapist will check up on you periodically during the next year. If he feels you have made significant improvement within a year's time, we will reconsider our decision. That is all."

The judge clears his throat, sits up, and heads for his personal exit door. The trial is over. The cameras are turned off and the people shuffle out of the courtroom, anxious to tell their friends about their exclusive experience at the highlight event of the week.

I wait for the crowds to leave, hoping to get a word with the Girl on Fire. She is whisked away by Haymitch and her legal team before I can even call out her name.

The Girl on Fire gets away, and I'm two steps behind, too late.

* * *

That memory lights a fire in me and I am filled with resolve yet again. I stop retreating and turn back around.

The Girl on Fire is exactly just that, a girl. I have no reason to be afraid. The worst thing she can do is to continue ignoring me, but I have certainly have enough experience with that tactic that it hardly bothers me anymore.

She doesn't hear me approach until the last second. She's holding the painting in her hand, with tears in her eyes. She's saying something over and over again, but I can't make out what it is.

I gather up all my courage and call out her name. I finally have her attention.

_Please don't run away. Please stick around._

She stares at me, wide-eyed and teary, before she turns around and rushes back into her house. I hang my head in disappointment.

I consider pounding on her door and yelling at her to open up and let me in. I shoot down the idea. She already reacts to me like an animal who knows it is caught in a trap. Forcing my way into her house would only guarantee me another year of silence.

I sigh. Once again, I've been defeated by Katniss's insecurities.

The fire that brought me back has been snuffed out by reality. I am left to deal with the smoke. I take deep breaths in and out, hoping asphyxiation does not get the better of me.

I can already imagine Haymitch saying, "I told you so, boy," in my head.

I make the trek back to Haymitch's house again. This time, I make no plans to turn around. I know now, more than ever, that there is absolutely nothing for me to return to.

* * *

Haymitch's door is unlocked so I let myself in.

He's still sitting at the table, chewing on some bread that I gave him this morning.

"What do you want, boy?" he mutters.

"She ran away again," I report.

"Shocker. I haven't heard that story before."

I choose to ignore his blatant sarcasm.

"Also… I think it's time for me to leave. I'm leaving District 12."

Haymitch stops chewing and stares at me. I feel like I need to explain myself.

"I don't know where I'm going, but I need to leave. Maybe I'll go visit Dr. Aurelius in the Capitol and then reunite with some friends who relocated to another district for a few weeks. It doesn't matter where I end up; all I know is I'm wasting my time staying here."

Haymitch finishes chewing whatever is in his mouth and swallows. He clears his throat before saying, "Good. You've finally come to your senses, Mellark."

"I know, I know. You told me so, yadda yadda yadda … Can you do me a favor though, Haymitch? Can you keep this a secret? I don't want her to know I'm leaving."

"She won't even notice, boy."

_Ouch._

"I know, but regardless, can you keep it to yourself? If I'm going to slip away, I want to do it quietly. You know how people in this district like to talk."

"I promise, Mellark, not a word from me… but only on one condition. Bring me back some alcohol from the Capitol. You know, the good stuff."

"Deal. I'll see you one last time before I actually leave, okay?"

I say my goodbyes and head home. I need to call certain people and figure out what I'm doing. I quickly decide to call Dr. Aurelius first. He'll be glad to hear from me, I'm sure.

The prospect of leaving District 12 is refreshing, but a small part of me is weighed down with the thought of the people, or rather person, I am leaving behind, even for a little while.

There's a girl in a house down the lane, sitting on the floor behind her front door, clinging to a picture of a dandelion. She might be crying. She might be terrified at my earlier intrusion on her privacy. She might not be affected at all. She is, however, unaware of my plans of departure.

_If she knew, would she even care?_

The uncertainty of the answer to that question has the effect of a boot digging into my throat, a feeling that I have been dealing with since the train ride that took us home a year ago.

Ever since we were younger, I've always been Peeta Mellark, the boy in love with the enigma otherwise known as Katniss Everdeen. Whether it was on the schoolyard or during the Hunger Games, I was always two steps behind her. I thought our affection for each other grew then, but she revealed hers were less-than-authentic.

During the Quarter Quell, I thought I had finally caught up with her, but the games and everything that occurred afterwards changed everything. President Snow's successful hijacking experiments turned memories of her affection into personal attacks at my being. When I returned to her, I realized that I was ten steps behind, with my hands tied somewhat willingly behind my back. A year after returning to District 12, I managed to get my hands free, but the distance between the Girl on Fire and I remains just as evident as ever.

However, I no longer choose to be ten steps behind. In fact, I will go the other direction. I will walk ahead of her and leave her in the dust, as she has done to me so many times before.

Once I get home, I pick up the phone and dial Dr. Aurelius's number. He is surprised to hear my voice.

"Peeta! What can I do for you today?

"I'd like to visit you in the Capitol, actually, if you don't mind. I have a few things to get off my chest."

"Of course, I don't mind, Peeta. Will Katniss be joining you?"

A tense moment of silence passes. The doctor notices.

"So I'm guessing this is a solo trip?"

"Yes, I'll be on my own this time."

"That's good to hear, Peeta. I'll get everything settled for you. How soon do you want to leave for the Capitol?"

"As soon as possible."

"Good, good. I'll call you to let you know when your ticket is ready. I'm so glad that you reached out to me, Peeta. It's been quite a while since I've heard from either of you. I was starting to get worried."

"Sorry about that. Anyways, I'll be waiting for your call, doctor."

We exchange our goodbyes and I hang up the phone.

I take a deep breath, no longer feeling asphyxiated by uncertainty and fear. The metaphorical boot on my throat has been lifted.

I am no longer Peeta Mellark, Katniss's "Boy with the Bread."

I choose to be Peeta Mellark, the man who walked away from Katniss Everdeen.

I choose to be free.


	3. Missing

**Goner**

_By Tinsadisaster_

**Summary: ** After a year of silence, Peeta reaches out to Katniss and makes her realize that when it comes to him, she was and always will be a goner.

**Author's Note: **

I appreciate all the people who reviewed the last chapter. I was delighted to read that everyone was excited to see this new concept of an independent Peeta. This chapter is revolved around Katniss and her reaction to what Peeta has decided to do.

**_..._**

**_Enjoy and please remember to review it!_**

* * *

Something's missing,  
And I don't know how to fix it.  
Something's missing,  
And I don't know what it is,  
At all.

**John Mayer** – _Something's Missing_

* * *

**III. Missing**

I watch him walk away, with his head hanging low and his hands shoved into his shorts' pockets.

Almost immediately, I feel like the worst person in the world, again.

"Stupid, stupid girl," I whisper to myself. I sink to the floor with my back against the door.

I'm still holding onto the painting. My fingers grasp the rough edges of the canvas, triggering my nerves, sending messages to my brain that this moment is not a figment of my torturously playful imagination. The pain is honest, and all too real for me to handle.

"Why did I shut him out again?" I ask myself.

I have the sudden urge to pick up my phone and call someone, anyone. I could call Gayle. I could call my mother. I could call Dr. Aurelius. Or hell, I could just call Peeta.

_No, I can't._

I could shake off these demons dancing on my shoulders, march over to his front step, and finally talk to him. I want to talk to him. I need to talk to him. I have never been so certain about any desire, than to simply see his face, unshielded by distance and glass, and to tell him everything I have been feeling for over a year.

I want to tell him that I want to be with him, as simple as it can be. I want to tell him that I need him, that I can't imagine my life without him. I want him to know that I'm scared to lose him. I want him to know that he frightens me, not only because I'm sure some part of him still hates my being, but because he forces me to answer the questions about my insecurities that I'd like to keep locked up inside. He exposes me, naturally and unintentionally, so that I have to face the ugliness that hides in the recesses of myself.

I don't want to face my demons. I don't want to conquer my fears. But if I ever want to have him and keep him again, I have to. I have to give us a fighting chance, and the only way _that_ reality can exist is if I pick up the pieces of my life and somehow find normalcy in the chaos. I must rebuild so that he can have someone to come back to. He needs a real person, not the shadowy version of me.

This can no longer be a one-sided affair.

It is my turn to gather up enough courage to walk to his front door.

_Tomorrow, I will come out of hiding. I will find him again._

_Tomorrow._

* * *

That night, I have a terrible dream.

Peeta and I are dancing in circles around each other on a sinking ship. The waves toss the ship around like a crazed child manipulating a toy boat in the bathtub.

Peeta has, on several occasions, offered me a life vest, but I have constantly refused.

My ego and fears play their games against me, blinding me from the truth. For so long, I don't accept that we are sinking; I am too busy covering my eyes, too afraid to witness the disaster surrounding us, endangering our livelihood.

I think that perhaps, if I don't see it, the problem isn't real.

He's yelling at me to stop being such an idiot and to open my eyes. He's shaking me like a rag doll to make me loosen my grip on my face.

Finally, I uncover my eyes. My vision returns, nearly perfect, and adjusts to the new landscape. What once was darkness is replaced with blinding light.

I wake up, gasping for air. I clench my blanket, feeling a strange pain in my abdomen. I cry out, but I cover my mouth immediately, hoping the awful sound doesn't escape. It does.

In my dark, moonlit room, I confront my loneliness. It stares me down until I'm forced to cower underneath my sheets. I hide, wishing the monster would go away, but I know that if I had the courage to peek over the covers, it will still be there, watching and waiting.

_Peeta, I need you. Please come back._

_Peeta, are you there?_

I am alone.

There is no sinking ship.

There is no Peeta to be found either.

* * *

Days pass by. I have yet to speak with Peeta.

The nightmares have kept me away. I wake up in the middle of the night, filled with unknown fear and anxiety. I go back to sleep, but I don't feel refreshed when I wake up again in the late morning. The dreams linger in my mind and force me to stay in bed all day. Only hunger and bodily necessities force me from my room, where loneliness surrounds me.

Haymitch visits me, oddly, a few days after Peeta's last attempt at recognition.

"I don't know what the hell you are doing with yourself, Katniss, but you need to get yourself together! This is _me_ talking, _drunk crazy old man Haymitch_, telling you that _you_ are a mess! Go talk to the boy before it's too late," he says to me when I open the door for him.

He looks disheveled, but his disposition seems sober. He's all there for once.

"I will, I plan to. I'm just busy," I say. The excuses pile on. Haymitch doesn't believe me. He knows me too well.

"The boy loves you, you know that. Otherwise, he wouldn't have kept coming back to you all this time, wasting his time giving you gifts and such. Please trust me when I say that he cares. He comes to me, constantly may I add, to profess his undying love for you, Katniss Everdeen. Please give him some relief. He is burning for you."

"I will talk to him today. I promise."

"Do it before it's too late, Katniss. A man can only take so much rejection before he finally calls it quits and moves onto different horizons. Even a patient man like Peeta."

"I need to prepare myself. Please excuse me."

I close the door. Haymitch leaves.

How odd. Haymitch never comes over to talk. In most cases, people have to come to him if they want to exchange a word or two, with a handle of alcohol in hand as a bribe.

The atmosphere suddenly feels different, as if I'm trapped again in those tubes that lift you into the games arena. The tube holds me captive longer than it should, signaling a trigger in my head that something is wrong, that something is amiss, and that somehow it all goes back to Peeta.

This sudden sense of urgency hits me hard.

Something terrible is going to happen soon, and it won't stop unless I do something about it.

_If I do something about it at all…_

* * *

The next morning, I finally manage to walk to Peeta's front door. I feel like I'm almost in a trance, like my body is moving by a master puppeteer's pulling. This is what I've been thinking of, and fearing, for so many days. I'm terrorized by what will be said and what won't be said.

I knock once and wait for him to appear.

He doesn't.

I knock again, thinking that perhaps he is still asleep.

I want to turn and run, but my feet are planted into the ground. I can't leave until I know what's going on. Why is Haymitch acting so out of character, giving me a warning now when he could've done it any time in the past twelve months?

I rap my knuckles on Peeta's front door a couple more times, louder and more fervently.

Perhaps Peeta is pulling a Katniss. Perhaps he's hiding, refusing to be seen or talked to. Maybe I should have baked a loaf of bread or wrote him a poem before I walked over here.

I wait for another five minutes before I give up and accept that he's not home.

_Perhaps he's in town? _

When he returned to District 12, he re-opened what remained of his family's bakery. I've been in the merchant area a few times since I returned home so I've seen the progress in reconstruction he made in the past months. The building looks brand new, as if it was never touched by destruction. He even managed to put the cake displays up in the front window like his family did before our Hunger Games. His baked goods sell for a ridiculously low price. I think he works at the bakery to give back to people in our community. It's also all he knows, outside of the Hunger Games. I'd like to think it's a therapeutic act for him, something that helps him get through the day. He bakes, and I hide from my feelings.

_Except this time._

Instead of heading back home, I go towards the part of town where the Mellark Bakery stands. I say hello to a few familiar faces, but I don't stop to talk. I need to talk to Peeta. I need to get to his shop as soon as possible.

I still feel like I'm trapped in the tube for some reason.

I know something is wrong when I see the sign on the glass door. The note is written on a flimsy piece of paper. I know he has written it, because I've seen his handwriting so many times before, in his notes to me. It is also the same parchment he uses for my letters.

**_To My Clients:_**

**_Until further notice, the Mellark Bakery will be closed. Please excuse this inconvenience. I will be out of the district for personal reasons._**

**_Peeta Mellark, Owner_**

The last sentence hits me in the middle of my chest, leaving me breathless.

Peeta is gone.

* * *

I run to Haymitch's house, ignoring the painful burn in my calves. The past few months of inactivity have wreaked havoc on my muscles, which feel useless to me now.

The distance from town and the Victor's Village is not significant, but I feel handicapped and suckerpunched. I can barely breathe, but I have to keep running.

I pass by the sign that marks the entrance of Victor's Village and I feel a second of relief. I am so close to Haymitch's house, so close to an answer.

The front door is unlocked so I let myself in. I scream out Haymitch's name and listen for a grunt of a reply. I find him in one of the spare bedrooms, sleeping in a chair facing the window. I shake him until he's awake.

"Whaddaya want? Who are you?" he hollers, squinting.

"Where is he, Haymitch?" I ask in a panicked and quiet voice.

Haymitch fully wakes up now, aware of who I am, and for some reason, aware of why I am here.

"I told you to talk to him before it was too late, Katniss," Haymitch replies, yawning. I ignore his foul stench of morning breath and shake him harder.

"Tell me what is going on! Where is he? Why did he go?"

"You don't need _me_ to answer that, Katniss. You already know what's going on here. Peeta left because you wouldn't talk to him. He was tired of your silence so he left."

"But why would he leave so suddenly? Where did he go? Did he tell you?" I am desperate. My voice fluctuates between shrieking and crying.

"Honey, no part of his departure was sudden. It's been building up for some time now. He was planning it, at least in his head, for months. It was going to happen eventually. You just pulled the trigger at the right time. Now he's off onto new horizons, as he should be."

"As he should be? Whose side are you on, Haymitch?"

"I'm on your side, Katniss, but I'm also on his side. I only want the best for you both, and right now, this is the best for him."

"But what about me? _This isn't the best for me!"_

Haymitch removes my hands from his shoulders and stands up, staring me down all the while. I feel like I've awakened a beast.

"Honey, this may be a hard pill to swallow, but this time, _this is not just about you_. This is beyond you. In fact, though you play a major role in his reasons for leaving, you probably don't play any other role now other than a painful memory, at least to him."

"What are saying, Haymitch? Is Peeta not coming back?" I stutter over these words. They are a foreign invader; my tongue repels them, my body refuses to ingest them.

"That is a question that only Peeta can answer. What I know is this: you hurt Peeta, and now he's doing what any sane man would do in his shoes. He's walking away from you. If you smack a dog once, twice, or even three times, what do you expect the dog to do when you raise your hand a fourth time?"

"_Did he tell you where he was going?_" I ask angrily, embarrassed by his honesty.

"He only told me he was going to the Capitol to talk to people. He said he didn't know what his next steps were after that. Don't chase him, Katniss. Let him go."

"That's the last thing I'm going to do, Haymitch. You know damn well that I'm not going to sit here and wait for him to come back. I'm going to find him and I'm going to force him to come home."

"_You can't, Katniss_. For one thing, that's terribly selfish of you. He left for a good reason. He wanted to get away from you. Don't take that away from him by running after him. He created distance; respect his wishes. And secondly, _you aren't allowed to_. Remember that time you assassinated Coin and went through this long, drawn-out trial in the Capitol and the judge said you were banished to District 12 for the remainder of your days?"

"Oh."

I forgot all about_ that._

"Ah, for once, the Girl on Fire has nothing to say."

He sits down in his chair. His fingers dance on the armchair. He is tired of our conversation.

"I'll work on it, Haymitch. I'll call Dr. Aurelius. I'll set some negotiation up. I won't let this happen."

Haymitch sighs heavily.

"The wheels have been set in motion, by Peeta Mellark himself. Even if you manage to get traveling rights outside of this district, you'll be too late. He'll be gone from the Capitol by then. You won't know where to go next. _**Accept it. This is the end for you two. Move on.**_ Charm and torture some other poor unsuspecting boy with your inability to reciprocate affection like a normal human being."

Ignoring the insult, I exclaim, "That is something that I will never accept. I will not be a pawn in this game. I won't lie down and let Peeta Mellark walk away just because my drunken mentor says it's the right thing to do. I've never listened to you in the past, and I don't plan on starting now!"

I run out of his house before I end up throwing my fists directly at his face. I am certain that Haymitch would gladly reciprocate the gesture with his own lopsided punches.

I'm not in the mood for a brawl with my mentor. I need to go home and make some phone calls.

I pass by Peeta's house. I stop to stare, like I did so many times before, especially on the nights I joined Haymitch for drunken counseling. Those nights, I used to stare into Peeta's windows, from a distance of course, and I used to wish with all my might that he would feel my presence and step outside to join me.

Now, in the blinding daylight, I stare at the lonely house. There is no light inside, there is no movement. It is devoid of life, of Peeta.

I am drenched with the feeling of missing him. It covers every inch of my skin, chills me to the bone, and makes my teeth chatter. I wrap my arms around myself as I force myself to look away from the house, a symbolic representation of what remains of me:

_Everything, but Peeta._


	4. Freedom

**Goner**

_By Tinsadisaster_

**Summary: ** After a year of silence, Peeta reaches out to Katniss and makes her realize that when it comes to him, she was and always will be a goner.

**Author's Note: **

I appreciate everyone who took their time to review my last few chapters. I get ridiculously excited when I see my notifications that another person has taken enough interest in my work to leave a review.

Now let's see what our brave little Peeta has been doing since the last time we saw (or actually, didn't see) him.

_**Enjoy and please remember to review!**_

* * *

I found myself wandering aimlessly,

Calling it freedom.

She came on like a storm,

From the blind side of a memory,

Soft and warm, left me seasick on the shore.

She believed she could prove,

It was her world that I needed,

But I left her for someone I wanted more.

**Super Deluxe** – _She Came On_

* * *

**IV. Freedom**

There was nothing more simultaneously liberating and terrifying than the moment that I stepped onto the train and the sleek metal doors closed behind me.

_Finally._

A train worker guided me to my compartment, which was large, lavish, and incredibly lonely. I took a seat by the window and watched my district disappear, one tree at a time. Eventually, it became nothing recognizable.

The compartment was silent, except for the quiet humming of the train as it zoomed along its tracks. Nothing could possibly bother me now, especially in this extreme solitude.

But that's the funny thing about me and my luck. Silence was what I dealt with for an entire year. Silence is exactly what I don't want now, _especially now_, but silence is what I receive nonetheless.

As the distance grows between her and I, my heart sinks in my chest unexpectedly. I suddenly feel regret seep into my bones. Fear electrocutes me, like thunder on a dark night, illuminating my body for frightening second after second.

The boot no longer digs into my throat, but a new imaginary pain has replaced it. Without question, something has gotten a hold of my heart and squeezed it, sending shocking tremors through me. My skin feels warm, alive, but I can't breathe. What energy is running through me? Surely, this does not feel like happiness. It feels like something else, something that I can't name.

Luckily, the train attendant walks into my compartment, ready to catch me as I fall to a sitting position on the ground, shaking uncontrollably. He yells out for help. His scream sounds dull, like his words are traveling underwater.

I wait, hoping the moment passes. I eventually realize that the screams are not coming from the attendant's mouth. They are coming from me.

* * *

The train's medical staff tells me that I experienced what is called a "panic attack." They ask if something is bothering or worrying me, which might explain the suddenness of the attack. I told them I was just tired.

I follow their recommendations and go straight to the comfortable sleeping suite that Dr. Aurelius so very generously arranged for me.

During my first ride to the Capitol, I jumped into the bed they provided for me, and was amazed at how soft and luxurious the blankets and pillows felt. For a few moments, I forgot that I was on the train ride to my death.

Just like I did then, I leap onto the bed. I flatten my body out like a starfish, which is a rough little marine creature that Finnick once described to me. He said that they were tough to remove from rocks because they literally suctioned themselves onto the rock's surface. Without a doubt, I hope to imitate a starfish and remain captive to the bed until we reach the Capitol.

I settle myself underneath the covers, but sleep does not follow so easily.

No matter where I force my thoughts to go, they always manage to end up at her. This reality saddens me, but it angers me as well. I made my decision to walk away, but somehow, my mind hasn't realized that yet. I am plagued with memories of her throughout the night.

Just when I think I'll get some peace of mind, she appears in my dreams, ducking and hiding behind corners. I tell myself to not chase her, but I still do. She runs, as elusive as ever, until I can't follow her. She disappears into clouds of mist and fog. I wake up every time, more sad than angry with each reoccurring dream.

Her name is the last word I say before I finally get some legitimate sleep, and it also happens to be the first word that comes to my mind when I wake up in the morning.

The train attendant shakes me, apologizing for doing so, and informs me that we will soon arrive at the Capitol and that breakfast is waiting for me in the main compartment.

I thank him and sit up in bed. He leaves the room quickly and I am left with my random first thoughts of the day… except they are not so random. They all involve someone who I left behind yesterday, though it doesn't feel that way at the moment.

_Stop following me around, Katniss. Leave me alone. Let me be free._

I feel like I'm trapped in the Quarter Quell arena, moving in circles to avoid traps set up by the game master. In this situation, the game master is my own mind. I run in circles until I can't, and then, in defeat, I give into the montages of memories that leave me feeling less whole by the minute.

This is not the freedom that I was searching for.

_No, this does not feel like freedom at all._

* * *

The next thing I know, I'm sitting in Dr. Aurelius's office. It is clean and minimalistic, but it shines in its own way.

"I'm very glad that you came to me for help, Peeta."

I sit across the coffee table from Dr. Frank Aurelius, the psychotherapist who was assigned by Capitol officials to ensure our minds and well-beings were intact after the traumatizing events of the Hunger Games and the Quarter Quell. He is a middle-aged man with a growing bald spot and lean fingers. He doesn't look like the typical Capitol citizens, who are still known for their awkward fashion and mannerisms. Even after the revolution, the Capitol citizens have managed to keep some of their wacky traditions alive – though their resources are extremely limited now.

"I need your help, Dr. Aurelius," I admit.

I stare at the cup of fresh coffee in my hands, slightly amazed at how the translucent glass makes the brown liquid look as majestic as it tastes. Haymitch was right – the Capitol did have the best of everything.

"I appreciate the little calls you've given me throughout the past year. I wish I could say the same for your counterpart."

My shoulders tense at the implication of her. The doctor notices and makes a note in his little electronic tablet. It's technology that I have never seen before. Surely, someone form the outlying districts developed it.

"I apologize. I realize that you feel very sensitive about that topic right now, so I'll try not to bring it up… Please tell me… what can I do for you today, Peeta?"

"I'll be blunt with you, Dr. A. I hope you don't mind me calling you that … No? Okay, well, Dr. A, what I first said during my first Hunger Games was true. I don't know if you caught the interview, but my confession was real. I did love her, but unfortunately it didn't work out, even with a marriage proposal and a fake pregnancy announcement. As much as it hurts me to say that I still care about her, it is a feeling that I _need_ to get rid of. I want to be free of her. That's why I left District 12 and came to you. Will you help me?"

He looks at me and deftly types even more notes into his tablet. When he finishes, he looks up at me and asks me how far I would go, to reach my peace of mind.

I tell him that I don't want to live the rest of my life chasing after an unrealistic dream of a stubborn girl who refuses to reciprocate my feelings for her.

"I will do everything I need to. Please tell me what I need to do."

I wait diligently for a reply.

"You have to go back to District 12, Peeta."

I yell out and slam my fists on the table as I stand up in protest of his suggestion. The coffee swishes in my cup, but it doesn't spill.

"That's your professional advice? _Go back there?_"

Dr. Aurelius folds his hands, looking like quite the sage in his office.

"It doesn't matter where you are. Your problems will follow you, whether you're at her doorstep or living here in the Capitol or backpacking in the other districts. Do you know why? Because they're inside your mind, and that, Peeta, is something permanently present, whether you like it or not."

"I don't want these problems anymore. I want to be cured of this so I can live freely and be happy for once. I came here to see you, to get help. I need a direction, but your compass is unbalanced. I can't go back there, not right now, Dr. A. I_ can't_."

I sit down, drained of the anger that forced me out of my seat just a few seconds before. I feel like a huge load has been lifted off my shoulders. The thoughts and feelings that I have been dragging around are finally thrown into the air, into existence in a world beyond me and my mind.

"Then you don't have to, at least not right now. But one day, you'll need to return, to see if your journey is truly complete, to see if you've searched enough of the world to quench your soul's thirst, to prove that you're okay on your own."

I barely register what the doctor is telling me. I'm still caught up in the horror of potentially going back home.

"… As you might have noticed these past few months, my methods are as spiritual as they are scientific. Trust me when I say that I want the best for you, Peeta. I want you to be happy, to be free. But in order for you to achieve that, you're going to have to face your fears. You need to look into yourself and confront what frightens you, what controls your inability to break away from a person who is not healthy for you."

_What scares me? … Losing her. _

_But isn't that what I need to do? Don't I have to let go?_

An alarm goes off, breaking my train of thought.

"I'm sorry, Peeta, but that's the end of our time. I have other clients to attend to… Your dear friend Ms. Effie Trinket has arranged your residential necessities during your stay here at the Capitol. I hope you don't mind that I let her know you were coming to town. She was very excited to hear your name. She nearly talked my ear off about how well she knew you."

"No, thank you, Dr. A. I really appreciate it. When can I see you again?"

The doctor reaches across the table and places his right palm on one of my clenched fists. He pats it reassuringly, and tells me that I can come to him again tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that, just as long as I let his secretary know at least a few hours in advance.

I nod in gratitude and see myself out.

I ignore the star-strucked, wide-eyed stares of the doctor's next patients. I also pretend to not hear their loud whispering.

"Did you see that young man who just walked by? Why, he's Peeta Mellark! He's the Girl on Fire's Lover Boy! I can't wait to get this appointment over with so I can tell all my friends that the Girl on Fire and the Boy with the Bread are back in the city!"

I force myself to walk out nonchalantly when instead I want to approach the stranger and exclaim that I am no longer anyone's lover boy.

_I belong to myself, and that's how things should be._

However, I don't have time to explain myself before I am suddenly escorted out of the office and practically shoved into a vehicle.

When I get my bearings, I notice that I am not alone. The intruder's presence raises my anxiety levels almost immediately. My eyes glance towards the doors, which appear to be locked. There are no handles to turn, no buttons to press. I am trapped.

"It's nice to see you again, Peeta. It's been a while."

Realizing that escape is impossible, I sink in my seat. This is not the journey that I was hoping for, not at all.

One word comes to my mind, the only word that seems to matter to me nowadays…

_Katniss_.


	5. Arrival

**Goner**

_By Tinsadisaster_

**Summary: ** After a year of silence, Peeta reaches out to Katniss and makes her realize that when it comes to him, she was and always will be a goner.

**Author's Note: **I've returned. Many apologies. The story continues, finally.

**Enjoy and please remember to review!**

* * *

Come as you are, as you were

As I want you to be

As a friend, as a friend

As an old enemy

Nirvana – _Come As You Are_

* * *

**V: Arrival**

I stare at the withered note on the door of the abandoned bakery.

The ink is fading. The paper is slightly yellow. The wind and unruly children have ripped it apart. The small nail holding it in place no longer has much to hold onto.

It's been nearly two months since Peeta decided to leave District 12, to leave me.

I say a silent prayer in my head, asking whomever to keep him safe and healthy, wherever he is. I don't know to whom the prayer is being delivered too, but I say it multiple times just to make sure it reaches someone's net.

_Think of me, _I plead to Peeta. _Remember me. _

I say this repeatedly, hoping that he somehow receives the message.

_Come back to me. _

I wrap my arms around myself and hold my head up high. I pretend to not see the others whisper behind their hands, eyes directed towards the Girl on Fire turned to the Girl with Ashes. I head back to Victor's Village because I have fulfilled my reason for leaving my house today.

Imagining the dim and dusty shop that used to be warm and full of light is aggravating my nerves. Maybe one day, if I stop by, the door will be open. The smell of fresh loaves will overtake my senses. The knowledge of his return will make this awful pain in my chest go away.

Everything could be better, would be better.

_Please come back to me. _

* * *

Not much has happened, at least on the exterior. All the struggle and change occurred within me.

After the initial shock of discovering that he skipped town, I was eerily calm. The small reasonable part of my brain assured me that this would be for the best and that we would both be better off by the separation.

Anger quickly set in. Logic has no place where passion rules.

I was angry with him for leaving, for giving up on me. I was angry with Haymitch for not warning me the morning that he left for the train station. I was angry with Dr. Aurelius for not letting me leave the district. I was lastly angry with myself for getting into this mess when I could have easily fixed it from the start. All I had to do was to _talk_ to him, but I couldn't. I didn't.

Sadness followed soon after. An incredibly heavy sadness spread all over me. My mind, that wretched thing, painted his face and our moments together in loops. My heart palpitated at the mention of anything remotely related to him – bread, paintings, blonde hair, flour.

During the worst of the emotional attacks, my chest felt like it was sinking in and I couldn't breathe. These strange pangs of electricity and dread radiated from my chest, to my limbs, until I couldn't feel anymore. My vision turned hazy, then a pinkish red. Fortunately, these attacks only happen when I am alone, because that's when I think of him most.

I don't want Haymitch to know how big of a mess that I am. He knows I'm a basketcase at heart, but Peeta' departure has turned my world inside out. If he knows where Peeta is, and perhaps stays in contact with him, then I refuse to let both of them know exactly how deeply this has affected me. I refuse to give them the honor of knowing my pain. From their point of view, it looks like I've simply moved on, but I haven't, at least not completely.

Moving on implies that you accept what has happened and that you choose to move forward. Accepting his departure is slowly becoming easier, especially as the days disappear into a blur and he fails to return, but choosing to move on does not get easier and most likely never will. Moving on means forgetting, but it's hard to forget what both my heart and mind hopes to cling onto so desperately.

Forgetting means letting him go, completely.

Clearly, my prayers for his return are a clear indication that letting him go is the last thing I want to do.

But slowly, it's becoming the only thing I can do.

I'm hiding my white flag in my pocket, but one of these days, I will have to wave it.

Slowly, soon.

* * *

I confide in Dr. Aurelius, who is happy that my despair has driven me to the point of conversation. Of course, he really doesn't feel this way, but how else can you describe the man who exists in your world primarily to analyze your sadness?

In a recent phone call, I confessed that I was slipping into a state of sleeplessness and depression.

"Do you find yourself unable to function on a day-to-day basis? Have you had trouble sleeping or even find yourself sleeping too much? Have you noticed that your appetite is suddenly gone? Do you find yourself lying in bed for days on end?" he asks.

_Yes. Yes. Yes._

"I will send you something to help you fix your sleeping patterns. _Do not attempt to take too many at once. _They won't work that way. You will only feel the need to vomit, if you try. Also, just as a precaution, we will send someone to check on you regularly. Once I feel that you can take these unsupervised, I will ask him to leave you alone."

"You're going to send that drunk man to watch me take sleeping pills? I could really die unintentionally on his watch. Or better yet, he might steal all my pills to bribe his alcohol dealer for harder stuff." I was obviously talking about Haymitch, the only person who could contact me at this point.

"No, we'll send one of our men. Someone dependable. Someone you might know."

_Someone you might know._

I shuddered at the possibility that it could be him. The friend I lost during the revolution. I was too scared to ask. I sent silent prayers that it wouldn't be him.

"Is that all you want to tell me, Katniss?" He lingers on the question, urging me to confess even more.

_I go to the bakery almost every day to check if he returned yet. It's the only reason why I leave my house anymore. I walk by his house, even though it's been empty for nearly two months. I sit on his porch and leave dandelions on his doorstep, asking for a chance to fix everything that I chose to let end. I can't eat bread anymore, without becoming overcome with anger, fear, and sadness. _

_I miss him. _

"No, doctor. Tell the man you send over that he can watch me take the sleeping pills and that's it. He has to leave right after. He can't stay. I already can't sleep. Knowing some man will stay at my house without my permission will definitely keep me awake."

"He'll arrive within a week, with your medication. Remember what I said. Don't take too many. He has permission, by the Capitol, to make sure you don't cause physical harm to yourself. A suicide attempt counts as physical harm, just to make it clear. If he finds that you are taking advantage of your medication, he will report to me and I will refuse any further requests for pharmaceutical aide. Do you understand?"

"Crystal clear, sir."

"Oh, before you hang up, I'd like to let you know that since you refuse to house our man, he will occupy Mr. Mellark's former residence. I hope it's okay with you."

_Former residence. As in never coming back. Living somewhere new. _

"He can have sleepovers with Haymitch for all I care. Just as long as he doesn't stick around me more than he needs to."

"Good. He'll be arriving next week. Expect him."

* * *

It's been a week since that conversation. My new night watch guard is coming today.

I walk nervously around my house, awaiting his arrival.

The unnatural squeal of district-manufactured yet Capitol-controlled wheels tell me that he's here.

I fly to the door, turning the knob before he can knock.

If I have to deal with this man to stay on good terms with Dr. Aurelius, then he will know first and foremost exactly how negatively I feel about him already.

"Okay, here's the thing, you – "

_Someone I might know._

That familiar crooked smile, from the days we used to hunt and relax in the restricted forest. Those striking gray eyes, so similar to mine. That healthy head of brown hair. The ugly military suit with ornamentation reserved for only the highest ranked in the Capitol's army. The smug confidence and ease as my name passes through his lips.

"So a mockingjay told me that you haven't been sleeping lately, Catnip. _Tsk tsk_. you should already know you need as much beauty sleep as you can get. Luckily, here I am to your rescue, as always."

He shakes a brown bag in front of my face.

He's too busy teasing me to realize my next move. I hurl myself at him, suddenly energized by rage and terror.

_Someone I used to know. _


	6. Gale

**Goner**

_By Tinsadisaster_

**Summary: ** After a year of silence, Peeta reaches out to Katniss and makes her realize that when it comes to him, she was and always will be a goner.

**Author's Note:**

Thank you to the following readers for leaving supportive reviews for my last chapter, which I realize was uploaded 2 months ago (woops!):

Texas-Devil-Or-Angel

sunburst-street

Destined627

OrchidBlue

Nikatsu

TWIMOMJAIME

Ldyglfr62

I've been throwing a few ideas around in my head for this chapter in the past month. I originally wanted to make this a Peeta chapter, but it messed up the flow of things, and I honestly could not think of anything juicy to happen on Peeta's end. However, I hinted at his whereabouts (or rather, _not_ whereabouts if that makes sense) this chapter. And who's here to stay... maybe?

_**Enjoy and please remember to review this latest chapter!**_

* * *

Oh, my mind wanders through all that I've been hiding from

I tried not to let you down

Now I wonder if I've been doing something wrong

Help me get my feet back on the ground

...

Someday we might learn to tell the truth

We might even find the fountains of our youth

And we all needed something real we all need proof

But I just wanna be closer to you

I only wanna be closer to you

**Brandi Carlile **– _Closer to You_

* * *

**VI: Gale**

The door swings open before I have the opportunity to knock. Swiftly, she appears, looking disheveled and angry. Though it's been over a year since I last saw her, she still looks the same. Some part of me expected a bag of bones, as horrible as that sounds, but as always, she manages to prove me wrong.

_Katniss Everdeen._

"Okay, here's the thing, you – "

For a millisecond, I watch her expression morph from determined and out-for-blood to complete shock. It doesn't take long before she realizes the identity of the stranger standing in her doorway. Almost immediately, she shows me how she feels about my sudden reappearance in her life.

The girl who used to share mutual respect and blossoming adoration for me hurls herself at me, with flamethrowers for eyes. The brown bag of medicine I'm holding onto slips out of my grip and falls to the ground as I prepare to catch her before she hurts herself in her feeble attempt to attack me.

"C'mon Catnip, I'm wearing army fatigues for God's sake, are you really going to attack me? You're lucky no one is around to report this. Plus, you know, you're still shorter and significantly weaker than me," I taunt.

Her hands form fists, which she throws upwards at my throat and chest. I'd almost forgotten how petite she is. She manages to land a few punches, but they barely make any impact. It feels like butterflies landing softly on my chest.

"What are they putting in your food, Catnip? We might have to incorporate it into our soldiers' nutrition. I thought you would be sickly and pale. You seem perfectly fine and full of energy!"

"Not you! Why did they send _you_?!" she screams. I knew she would be disappointed about my return, but not to this extent. What hurts the most about her response is the absolute disgust behind her truly heartfelt words. I have made quite a few enemies over the past few years, but I never imagined that my former best friend would be one of them.

I brace myself against her attack, grabbing her wrists to pin them at her sides. After shuffling around on her porch, I finally subdue her. She squirms in my grasp, feral and fearful, just like a cat carried by the scruff of its neck. I hold her steady, waiting for her little tantrum to end.

A few minutes of squirming and biting remarks pass by before she finally gives up and relaxes in my hands. I wait cautiously, hoping she doesn't bite my arm or spit in my face, both of which are perfectly plausible actions in her current state of distress.

All the while, my brain registers that this is the first time I've physically touched her in a very long time. After the madness and the revolution, and particularly Prim's death, the distance between her and I grew, in more ways than one. I relocated to another district, hundreds of miles away. She ignored my calls or gave me quarter-hearted responses when she chose to pick up the phone. She built a wall to keep me out; and I didn't make an effort to tear it down. I just hollered from the other side of the wall from time to time, wondering if one day she would throw me a rope, or maybe even her braid.

"Are you finished?" I ask her roughly, still keeping pressure of my fingers on her arms to quell any final rounds of fire.

She nods.

"I'm going to let you go now, okay? I'm going to pick your pills up off the ground. Please don't attempt to kick me in the head. You might break your foot."

I carefully lift the pressure off her arms and squat down to collect the strewed items off the floor. The pills jingle in their clean, white Capitol-administered containers as I shove them back into the crumpled brown bag. I never let her face or limbs out of my sight. She watches me, curiously, without a word.

I stand straight up again, and reach out to pass her the bag. She accepts the package with shaky hands.

"I can see from your reaction that I won't get a friendly invitation into your home, but you have to understand that I still have a job to do. I received specific instructions to monitor your intake of these prescription pills… but I'm not a creep so I won't watch you sleep at night or anything weird like that. I just need to make sure you're taking them correctly. Do you understand this, Katniss?"

She nods again. Her expression is dull and lifeless. She's locking me out again.

_Not the girl I used to know._

"I'll come back later tonight, around 9. Please make sure to keep your door unlocked … which reminds me … I need to make a copy of your house keys, so I'll need to borrow them tomorrow. Is that okay with you, Katniss?"

"Okay."

"Alright, Katniss. I'll go now. See you tonight."

With those final words, I turn to leave. I don't look up again until I make it back into my car.

She's still standing on her porch, watching me, and trying to figure me out. From the looks of it, she's trying to decide whether I am a threat or an ally. I have a feeling that I am the former – I stopped being her friend a long time ago. It was her choice, not mine.

Instead of dwelling on her rejection this past year, I moved forward with my career and my life. Though she obviously does not support my decisions, I honestly don't care. I am clearly happy with myself thus far, but my instincts tell me that the Girl on Fire doesn't feel so self-assured with her current state of mind. If I play any part in her unhappiness, I am an unknowing victim of her scorn.

I smile courteously and wave goodbye before turning the car around, to take me back into town to run errands and say hello to old friends.

I watch her figure disappear into an indistinguishable dot in the rearview mirror.

_I always wanted to return to you, but not in this way. Not as a stranger, but as a friend. But I'll take what I can get, if it means I'll get to see you again._

* * *

After returning from town with groceries and toiletries, I settle into Mellark's old home. I can tell from the blankets covering the furniture and the thin layer of dust on everything, that he has been gone for some time.

_How strange._

My superiors did not explain why I needed to shack up in his old place, but the fact that I _was_ meant that something had gone awry between him and Katniss, the supposed star-crossed lovers from District 12. I heard rumors that he moved to the Capitol, but those turned out to be false. I visited the Capitol a month ago; there was no mention of him anywhere.

The Boy with the Bread simply disappeared.

I connected the dots fairly quickly. His relocation from District 12 to elsewhere affected Katniss's health. It was one of the few possible explanations for her to ask for sleeping pills, especially for those that were prescribed to her. I had the liberty of speaking with a few military doctors about the drug, and they all agreed that it was potentially dangerous, especially in the wrong patient's hands.

Naturally, this is where I step in the story. I'm here yet again to save Katniss from herself, and more dramatically, from a permanent drug-induced coma. Unfortunately, I am not the savior she was hoping for. I am the wrong knight-in-shining armor. She was expecting someone much shorter and a lot less handsome.

However, despite her reluctance in accepting my re-established presence in her life, I will do my job. I will protect her. I will make sure she wakes up in the morning.

Once upon a lifetime ago, she was one of the major driving forces in my life. I lived to protect her and her family, as well as my own. I took care of her mother and sister while she participated in the Hunger Games. I took care of her when she came home, damaged and distraught, despite the rumors that the relationship between her and Peeta was actually real. I took care of her after we rescued her from the Quarter Quell. I was always there for her, and I still am.

I don't know what changed between us. I can't pinpoint the moment she stopped trusting me, but I know that Prim's death had something to do with it. I don't know why she blames me for her sister's death, but she's made up her mind that I'm one of the bad guys. I don't know how to make her see that I am not the monster she paints me out to be.

I am still Gale. Though I am no longer an innocent young boy trespassing into the forest to take care of my family and friends, I still feel strongly about her and want her to be happy. That much hasn't changed. I can't say that this attraction is strictly platonic, because thoughts have flown around my head that nullify any conclusion such as that. But can't you call it love when you wish for someone's happiness, even at the sake of your own?

My mind travels back to the few private minutes I had with her, before she got on the train to her first trip to the Hunger Games. The words were on the tip of my tongue then. I wanted to tell her to remember that I loved her, but I couldn't get those last words out. The guards pulled me out of the room before I could try again.

With a girl like Katniss, there is no such thing as a second chance, but I'm the kind of fool who'll try time and time again. Some call it being hopeful; others would label it insane. At this point, I would agree with the latter.

* * *

Fifteen minutes before nine, I head out to Katniss's house. After dinner, I debate about whether I should wear my uniform or go informally to meet Katniss. I know she hates my fatigues for what they represent, so I decide on the latter and wear civilian clothing. Besides, I need all the help I can get, to get back on her good side.

I know something is wrong before I get to her porch. The house is pitch black, not a light or soul within.

My mind jumps to terrible conclusions as I rush to the front door, which is predictably locked, despite my earlier request. I run around the house, towards the back door. Unfortunately, that door is also locked. I contemplate breaking one of her windows but then I remember that we are not the only inhabitants of Victors' Village. Haymitch, her former mentor, also lives down the street. Surely, he has a copy of her keys!

I sprint towards Haymitch's house, praying that he is conscious enough to answer his door.

To my surprise, I have no trouble getting into his house. At least someone in Victors' Village decided to keep their front door unlocked!

As soon as I barge in, I hear music playing, glasses clinking, and laughter. Apparently, Haymitch is hosting a party. I follow the sounds, which lead me to the kitchen. I hate to be a party crasher, but I have a good reason to be…

"Mr. Abernathy! I have an emergency! Do you – What?! _You have got to be kidding me_!"

I pause at the sight before me. Katniss and Haymitch are sitting on different ends of a dinner table, surrounded by a few bottles of clear liquid, which definitely does not look like water.

"_Who're you_?" hollers Haymitch. He reaches for a bottle to refill his glass as he scrutinizes me from head to toe. Apparently, he doesn't remember me so well or he's just too drunk to recall.

"Katniss?!"

"Gale?" she slurs, lifting her head off the table. I can tell she's having trouble doing so. She seems to be breathing a little too deeply and slowly. My mind tries to recall the signs of alcohol poisoning, but that part of my training is a little blurry. The people I normally encounter during work don't necessarily have the means to buy substantial meals in the first place, let alone strong alcohol.

"Ahh! You're the _other one_!" Haymitch added, pointing a finger at me. I choose to ignore him.

"What do you think you're doing, Katniss?" I exclaim.

"None of your business!" she responds, hiccupping afterwards. She drops her head back down on the table.

"I'm taking you home now. C'mon Katniss, get up!" I order.

Haymitch laughs. "Feisty, this one! I like him! What's his name again? Howard?"

"You're done for the night. I'm talking to both of you, by the way. Let's go, Katniss."

I pull her out of her seat. Initially, she fights me, but I manage to throw an arm around her waist. In her drunken stupor, she falls into my grip, in a sideways hug. I force her to take baby steps away from the dinner table. We slowly make our way to Haymitch's front door. I can hear Haymitch laughing to himself in the kitchen. I close the front door with my free hand and hold Katniss as upright as possible with the other.

It takes us almost fifteen minutes to get back to her house. She threatened to throw up twice and kept insisting she could walk on her own. I let her go the first time and she immediately fell to her knees. I didn't listen to her again after that.

"Why would you do this to yourself, Katniss?" I ask her as we maneuver up the small staircase to her porch.

"Why not, Gale? Everything is falling apart. Why not drink and make it all go away?" she answered back.

"That makes no sense. Do you have your keys?"

"Nope!"

"Are you kidding me? Where did you leave them?"

"Haymitch's fireplace."

"What?!"

"We burned them!" she explains, laughing.

"Why would you do that?"

"So _you_ wouldn't be able to get into my house. I don't like you. I don't want you in my home."

"I don't know what to do now, Katniss."

"Now you know how I feel," she confesses, with a sigh. Her head feels heavier on my arm. I can tell that she'll lose consciousness soon. The prospect of carrying over a hundred pounds of deadweight is not inviting. I've carried heavier people before, but again, it's not an inviting idea.

"We can't stay out here, Katniss. It's getting cold already."

"We can go back to Haymitch's!" she offers.

I respond with a loud, resonating "_**NO.**__"_

"We can go to Peeta's house!"

"You mean my house, at least temporarily."

"No, I mean Peeta's house. He lives there."

"_Lived_."

"Shut up! He's coming back. Don't worry."

I roll my eyes. "Okay, whatever, let's just go. I hope this isn't a new habit of yours. I might have to report this to your doctor. Say goodbye to your pills, Catnip."

We walk in hiccup-interrupted silence to the house whose ownership was currently being debated. More realistically, I walk for the both of us. Katniss just leans into me for support. Thankfully, she does not threaten to throw up this time around.

We make our way into the house and up the staircase to the second floor, where the master bedroom is. Katniss asks why there are blankets on the couches and the tables. I tell her to stop asking stupid questions and to keep moving forward.

Miraculously, we make it to the bedroom. We shuffle around in the dark, but I eventually find the bedside table, where the only working lamp is. Katniss complains when the light turns on and blinds her.

"You can sleep here tonight, Katniss."

"But where will you sleep? Not next to me in Peeta's bed! I'll kick you!"

"Of course, not next to you, and especially not in Peeta's bed. I'll sleep in the guest bedroom, away from you and your flying feet. Now be good and sit on the bed. I'll take your shoes off for you."

Like a child, she follows my instructions. I untie the laces of her boots and pull them off her feet. I set them aside at the foot of the bed so that she will not step on them if she needs to jump out of bed to go to the bathroom later on in the night. She climbs under the covers and lays her head on the pillow.

I wonder if she's done this before, with Peeta. Not getting belligerently drunk, of course, but rather undressing and climbing into this bed with him. I shiver, just wondering what could have happened in this room and in this particular bed. In that moment, I know that I will never sleep in his room. I choose a guest bedroom any night over this specific room for very obvious reasons. The less lingering Peeta molecules around, the better.

"Katniss, do you need water? A bucket maybe?" She shakes her head twice. I pull the trashcan out of the bathroom and place it next to the bed, just in case. At this point, I take off my shoes too, and set them next to her boots.

"I'll stay with you for a little bit and wait for you to fall asleep."

"You said you wouldn't be a creep. You're going to watch me sleep!"

"I need to make sure you're okay, alright, Katniss? I promise I'll try to keep my creepiness at a minimum. Now go to sleep so I can get some shuteye too. It's been a long day."

I pull up a chair, propping my legs up onto the bed.

She tosses and turns, and does not go to sleep. Instead, she stares at me, wide-eyed and curious. I can only imagine the thoughts racing through her inebriated mind. I make a note to hide anything that could potentially turn into a murder weapon; I don't plan to die in my sleep tonight, especially at the hands of a drunken mad lady with a ton of emotional baggage indirectly involving me.

"Why did you come back, Gale?" she asks, out of the blue. I'm taken back; this is a blunt and honest question, one that sober Katniss would never ask to my face.

"I told you already, Katniss. It's my job to make sure you're okay."

"So this is just work for you?" she asks, frowning slightly.

"Yes."

She nods. Her frown is slightly bigger than before. I think I said the wrong thing again.

A few minutes of silence pass by. I hope and pray that she's finally falling asleep, but she slices the silence with another question.

"Do you know where he went?"

I think hard for a second, wondering if I should tell her, and if it matters. I decide to be honest; for what it's worth, she won't even remember my answer in the morning.

"I'm assuming you mean Peeta. I don't. I heard that he went to the Capitol. He's not there anymore. He hasn't been there for at least a month now, according to my sources."

She sighs loudly and hides her face into the pillow. Her shoulders start to shake as tremors pass through her body. I know that she is crying. I don't say a word – I would rather not see her cry. Seeing people cry, especially the ones you care for the most, is awkward and uncomfortable.

I figure, now it's my turn to ask questions and get some answers. This is the only time she will be completely honest with me and let me in on what's going on inside her head. I decide to milk this tiny window of opportunity.

"Katniss, please stop crying. Think about something else. Something that doesn't make you sad."

"Everything makes me sad now, Gale."

"God! That's _so_ depressing to hear, Katniss. I'll try to take your mind away from all of this stuff, then…"

"Good, because I've tried everything I can think of. Nothing helps."

"Fine. Let's talk about something else. Let's talk about _me_! That's always a fun topic, right? … Good to hear you laugh again, Katniss… But seriously… if you don't mind, I have questions of my own. First: why did you barely answer any of my calls this past year?"

"Because I didn't want to talk to you."

"I kinda got that impression after the first five or so unanswered calls… but can you tell me why?"

"It's complicated, Gale."

"We have all night. I don't mind listening to a long story."

"I may be drunk, but I know that I'm still not ready to talk to you about it yet."

"That's fair. But will you tell me someday?"

"I don't know."

"Alright. Well, since I have your attention, I'll tell you a story."

"If it involves _him_, please stop talking. I don't want to think about him anymore than I already do. _Please_."

"It has nothing to do with him, I promise. I'm tired of talking about that guy anyways. Besides, I'm much more interesting."

She stares at me, eyes sparkling post-cry. I try to memorize this vulnerable expression in my head. Katniss never reveals this side of herself – witnessing a calm and subdued Katniss is like experiencing a heatwave in December or a snowstorm in June; it's rare and nearly impossible but it happens once in a blue moon. She's letting me back in again.

"Do you remember the afternoon, immediately after you volunteered as tribute for the Hunger Games?"

"Yes. What a big mistake _that_ was. But I had to do it, for Prim. I couldn't let them kill her." Her voice falters; I sense that waterworks will soon follow. I wonder if I should stop talking about this – and whether I'm included in the accused category of "them." I really hope I'm not.

"Do you remember when I came to see you, at the Mayor's office? I fought the guards to be able to talk to you for just a few moments. I lied and said that you were my cousin or something. More importantly, do you remember that I promised you that I would take care of Prim and your mother?"

"You did. You did take care of them." She yawns and closes her eyes, nestling her face into the pillow. Luckily, we've skipped the waterworks and gone straight to exhaustion.

"I did, but I was so scared that you wouldn't come back, Katniss. I would have gladly taken care of them if things turned for the worst… but your life was the only thing on my mind at the time."

"Me too," she says softly. Her eyelids flutter and her breathing steadies out. After a few minutes, she's asleep.

I wait a little while longer before making my way back to the guest bedroom. Luckily, it is just across the hall from the master bedroom. I leave both doors open, just in case she wakes up and starts panicking.

After brushing my teeth in the bathroom, I slip out of my jeans and shake off my fleece jacket. I pull my thermal long-sleeve off as well, but keep my socks on. I settle into the bed in the guest bedroom, which is significantly smaller but less ridden with Mellark's physical and symbolic memories. For that, I am thankful.

I think of the girl in the other room. The girl who'll only talk to me when she's not herself. The girl who's in bed with the ghost of an ex-lover still stuck in her head.

_I'm still scared that you won't come back to me, Katniss… But I'll change your mind. I have to. _

From the other room, she responds with loud snores.

I smile. I'm closer to her than I ever dreamed I would be, at this point.

Now I just have to kick the baker out of the picture, for both of our sakes.


	7. Katniss

**Goner**

_By Tinsadisaster_

**Summary: ** After a year of silence, Peeta reaches out to Katniss and makes her realize that when it comes to him, she was and always will be a goner.

**Author's Note:**

Happy New Year! Unfortunately I haven't been very good at updating this story, but I'm trying to keep it up. Thanks to those who've been reviewing the chapters, especially to those who've stuck around since I first posted this story. I truly appreciate your support and encouragement.

_**Enjoy and please remember to review!**_

* * *

You wanna know my sentimental reasons,

Why I call you when my heart is sad and low,

Call your name just to hear a heart beating,

Wanna make sure mine's there for sure

.

Don't wanna hear no sad sad talking from ya,

So tired of the same old show,

Won't write that worn out fiction with you,

Won't play that part no more

**Keegan DeWitt ** - "_Reluctance_"

* * *

** VII. Katniss**

He sits on the steps of my porch, staring up at the dark night sky. He looks at his watch just one more time, before standing up to finish his nightly rounds of checking up on me. He knocks respectfully, but I know he's already seen me through my window. I open the door for him, but I don't say a word. He has a key, but out of respect for my privacy, he chooses not to use it for nights like these.

I show him the tiny pill cradled like a butterfly in the palm of my hand. I bring the pill to my mouth and swallow it. He observes my every movement.

"Good night Katniss," he says before he turns to leave.

I retreat into my home and slowly close the door. Through my little window, I watch him stop and stand still on the porch, frozen with unknown intentions. He turns around and heads back to my door. He raises a hand to knock again, but it immediately turns into a fist that travels back into his coat pocket. He stares downwards and frowns before sighing. This is his signal that he has given up and that he is leaving.

I've seen those gestures before, but they were done by a different man; by a ghost who chose to disappear, a haunt I drove away.

Gale's eyes aren't the right color. He's too tall. He's too headstrong and fiery, just like me. He doesn't yield to my notions; he's not the one that I want and need…

But given the odd circumstances, I don't feel so alone anymore.

* * *

I have mixed feelings about Gale's reappearance into my daily life.

There are times when he looks at me and I'm reminded of the boy in the forest, the one who taught me how to hunt and trap more effectively; he was part of my survival. There's a youthful spark in his eyes that never completely went away, despite the years that aged us so quickly. In these moments, he reminds me of a time where life was still tough, but it was simple. I was no one of importance; I was just a girl fighting against my tiny cruel world, without a title or a reputation. In these moments, the hate I feel for him falters, and I yearn to be like we were before: best friends, connected, communicating.

But then my vision clears and nostalgia is replaced with reality. I smell the dark musk of maturity about him. Brawny muscles, cleanly cut hair, fresh military clothing, and the sharp, rhythmic beat of his step remind me who he has become. His eyes harden and he is a stranger, a man of the Capitol. His medals shine so brightly that it hurts to tolerate his honor to a political system that used me (and still continues to use me) as a sacrificial animal to be glorified and slaughtered again and again in hopes of brighter days (or rather blind adoration from the citizens of New Panem). In _these_ moments, I remember why I cannot trust him like I used to.

However, he returns night after night, a promise actually kept, to make sure I am alive.

The drugs diffuse into my bloodstream and I walk to my bed night after night, where I am engulfed by unconsciousness, to a place where nothing makes sense but everything and everyone speaks truth.

In sleep, I say the words that I cannot reveal out loud. I run after Peeta, chasing a bullet train that disappears into the distance. I ask him to stay, beg him to come back, but over time, as the dream reoccurs night after night, I stop chasing him. I just watch him leave, breathless and jaded. Sometimes I even wave goodbye and wish him a good journey. I wake up with a smile on my face because I've seen him, even if it's all in my head. Sometimes I wake up crying for the very same reason.

Sometimes, Gale stands by my side and watches the train disappear with me. He smiles down at me, with his boyish charm. He tells me everything will be okay and I believe him. For some reason, I believe him.

When I wake up, I feel confused, but comforted. Someone is watching out for me, even if he's getting paid to be here. My heart immediately sinks when the understanding hits me that one day, he too will leave on a train, taking along my subconscious belief of security along with him.

I cry for the memory of a boy in the forest who promised me that he would always be there for me. I cry for the boy who saved my life with a loaf of bread, and promised the very same thing as the boy in the forest. I cry for the loss of innocence, of security. I cry for my father and my sister. I cry for the dandelion that no longer grows in the field of my mind.

Most of all, I cry for me, when I realize that I am weaker than I should be and that I am more sad than I say that I am, and that with every passing day, I lose more of the girl in the forest fighting for survival. Shame showers down on me when I accept that I am dishonoring my family by refusing to rise above the system that oppresses me, a system that I help feed and support with every passing day, a system that is taking the form of my identity.

Imaginary puppet strings fall from the sky and attach themselves to my limbs. I stop fighting the strings and I let them pull me this way and that.

I am a shadow of my former and stronger self. I am a goner.

* * *

One morning, while stepping outside to venture to the market place to replenish my cupboards with groceries, Gale appears by my side and asks me if he can come along.

"I finished off my last can of beans last night," he explains. I nod.

He offers to drive us, but I tell him that I prefer to walk. He complies with my request.

We walk side by side, our steps synchronized, but we are a body's width apart.

In silence, we walk together to the merchants' area, where we make our separate purchases. The town people watch us like hawks, whispering to their friends and acquaintances. They know about the sign that is still stapled to the missing baker's door. The weather has worn down the ink, but the message is still the same: Peeta Mellark is no longer a resident of District 12.

_Why?_

I can only imagine the treacherous acts I've committed in the imaginations of these people who know _of_ me, but don't know me. I try to contain the anxiety building up inside me as I become more aware of the whispering and the wandering eyes. Gale notices my discomfort and casually says that he's done and that he's ready to go.

I haven't bought quite nearly enough, and neither has he, but I agree and we make our way back to Victor's Village.

Our steps synchronize naturally again, and I focus on them to block out the thoughts racing through my head. We're so far away from the merchant area, but I can still see the faces behinds hands, lips moving, creating fictional stories where I am the villain and the lunatic who drove her lover away.

Gale breaks the silence.

"You're not crazy, Katniss. Don't let them get to you."

I give a tiny smile in response, my "thank you" for the comforting words.

"They're the ones who are crazy, with their damn prices! You wouldn't believe how long I had to barter with the butcher to get a decent price on the meat they had in stock. I could tell that it wasn't as fresh as he claimed, but that didn't stop him from trying to practically rob me for the price. We would know fresh, right Catnip?! We were the king and queen of fresh meat back then!"

I nod.

The memory of the people we used to be lingers in the air we breathe until we finally pass the gates of Victor's Village.

He escorts me to my porch.

Before he leaves, he confesses to me, "I don't mean to be offensive, but I don't like this new silent version of you, Katniss. It's true that people change, and trust me, both of us have changed these past few years… but you make me uncomfortable when you don't _really_ respond to me when I try to talk to you. I hate to say it, but I feel like I need to walk on eggshells when I'm with you and you know how terrible I am at that. It wouldn't hurt to have a conversation with me. I'm not going to report you or anything."

"Okay," I offer.

"Oh, she speaks! That's a good start! You know, I've been accustomed to being surrounded by so many people for so long, that this sudden change in lifestyle is a little tough. I feel so alone in that big house. I know a few people in town, but quite frankly, you're the closest thing to a friend I have in this entire district now… and you don't even want to talk to me. I hope I'm not being too forward by saying this stuff."

"You're not. It's okay."

"Good. Because I've been meaning to tell you this since I got here, but I never found the appropriate time to bring it up. I see you maybe a minute or two every day, and no matter what I try to say, I always get a door in my face before I can get the words out. It's tough on a guy, you know."

"I know." _All too well. _

Peeta's face pops into my mind. I can hear his words, pleading for a window of opportunity, for a chance.

"I won't go away, at least for now. I can't. So if you feel up to it, maybe we can sit together and just talk. We can talk about anything you want. We could even go hunting!"

I smile at this offer. My mind whispers _maybe_, but I keep my lips shut.

"If you need a little liquid courage to talk about the weather, I can provide that too. You were so talkative that night you got drunk and locked yourself out of your own house. If I have to bring out _that_ Katniss, then so be it, I will!"

Before I can stop myself, it happens. I laugh like I used to, with him, before Peeta.

"Now that's a sound I've missed terribly. You should laugh more often, Katniss. You look prettier when you are happy."

He says goodbye and we part.

The soft echoes of my laughter still ring in my ears.

I sound just like the girl in the forest.

* * *

Dr. Aurelius calls a couple times a week to check in on my reactions to the medication. I tell him that I haven't skipped a night since I received the pills.

"How do they make you feel? Do you feel any dizziness, abdominal pain, or sluggishness during the day or night?" he asks.

"No, I haven't. I sleep better now. I actually sleep."

"That's good to hear! But just to let you know, natural sleep is best. We'll try to work your way into that routine, alright?"

"I understand. I have a question though."

"Which is?"

"How long will I have to be monitored before I can take the medication on my own?"

"Ah, I knew you might have a bit of an issue with that. Lucky for you, it looks like your reports have been coming back very positive. It might be a few more weeks, but I can guarantee you that whoever is watching over you will be relieved of his duty within a month!"

I freeze.

"Hello? Hello? Katniss, are you still there? Did I lose you?"

I respond, murmuring that I am still on the line.

"I thought I lost you there."

"But that's so soon! He just got here," I comment.

"Yes, I know, but he was never meant to be a permanent fixture. This is just new medication for you so we needed to make sure it worked."

_We needed to make sure you wouldn't overdose on sleeping pills, _you mean.

"It has."

"And that's wonderful to hear! Sounds like you're on your way to full independence again. You're probably overjoyed about that prospect."

"Thrilled," I respond impassively.

I hang up the phone, not bothering to say goodbye.

* * *

With the dread of Gale's impending departure from District 12 looming over my head like a cartoonish raincloud, anxiousness and worry become the theme of my thoughts and dreams.

I'm not sure if he knows that his duties are almost over. He doesn't give any signals that he knows. If he is aware of the news, he is doing a great job of pretending.

A few mornings after Dr. Aurelius's revelation, I hear someone knocking on my door. Gale appears, with two bows and two bags of arrows slung over his bulky shoulder.

"Morning Katniss!"

"Good morning. Are you going on a trip?"

"Yes! And you're coming with me. You need to get out of this black hole of a house; you need to breathe in fresh air, get those muscles moving again!"

"But I'm not ready…" I start to protest.

"Did I ask if you were ready? No! Now go change into some proper clothing while I grab some food from your cupboard to fuel our adventure. I've been itching to get back into the woods since I got here. I want to see what's out there. I'm tired of the rubber the butcher tries to sell off as fresh meat."

I follow his orders. Then we drive to the poorer parts of the district, an area that we called home for the better part of our childhoods. We follow the fence until we reach the opening to the forest.

Just like us, the forest has aged with time. Everything is greener and fuller than I remembered. I hear the forest come to life and creatures scamper away when they hear our footsteps. Mud and leaves cover the soles of my boots. The air is fresh and clean. I breathe it in, filling my lungs with its purity.

I know that Gale is watching me, but I try to ignore him. I walk two steps ahead of him to avoid his gaze.

"This is so weird. I didn't think we'd be back here again, at least not together," he confesses. I look over my shoulder and smile at him.

"I wanted to come back here, but I never had the motivation to," I reply.

"You've been going through rough times. I understand."

To avoid the subject of my dismal days, I ask him what the plan is for the rest of the day. He says that we'll set up traps and try to catch wildlife, just like we used to. He hands me my own bow and bag of arrows. My fingers tingle as the exchange occurs; his fingertips graze mine.

I apologize. He doesn't.

"Where did you find these? Did you buy them? You really didn't have to go through all this trouble to get me out of my house…" I ask.

"No, don't worry. I didn't buy them. In fact, I found them in the house. I was just looking through the closets because I was bored and I happened upon these. They were stuffed in a box with canvases and paintbrushes. I figured that Mellark forgot that he bought them or something. Don't know why he would; he's a terrible hunter. I remember how awful he was during the Games."

_He bought them for me, as a gift he was waiting to leave on my doorstep_, I realize.

I choke back the tears that suddenly threaten to fall from my eyes. I turn around to make sure Gale doesn't see me become emotional. I breathe in and out, counting down from 10 in my head.

"Let's catch something before it gets dark. We should split up and meet back here later," I exclaim, slightly stuttering.

"Sounds like a plan! Let's do this!" Gale exclaims. He runs off ahead of me, disappearing into the green distance.

The thrill of the day is ruined by harsh reality yet again. I fling the bow and arrows over my shoulder and head deeper into the forest, towards the cabin by the lake.

I have no intention of hunting. Instead, I plan to be completely alone for a few hours.

I'll consider it practice for Gale's departure next month.

* * *

It takes me longer than I expected to get to the cabin. I must have forgotten the lay of the land during my time away. I used to know this place like the back of my hand.

When I get to the sleepy lake, I kneel down by its edge to splash my face with water. The water is cool and refreshing on my skin, disguising any evidence of tears. I pat my face dry with my jacket sleeve.

I catch something move in my peripheral vision. I jump up and get my bow ready, preparing to take down the forest creature before it takes me down.

A blur of something disappears around the corner of the little cabin. My instincts tell me to flee, but I follow the shadow anyways. It leads me to the front door of the cabin, which peculiarly sways open.

There is a light in the cabin.

I know that I should leave, but curiosity gets the best of me. I use my foot to swing the door open and enter the cabin, bow still aimed to fire.

I'm taken back when I observe the flame in the fireplace, the pot of food on the stove, and the brewing cup of coffee on the small dining table. A heavy blanket is folded neatly on the couch, accompanied by a pillow. A thick men's sized jacket hangs on a hook on the wall. Two pairs of all-weather boots are lined neatly on the ground, by the chimney.

My mind reels when I become conscious of the fact that _someone lives here. _

_But who could it be?_

…

_Could it be? _

_No, that's impossible. Don't be stupid, Katniss. He's gone._

I don't take long before I decide it's time to leave.

I backpedal my way out of the cabin and race to the place in the forest where I promised to meet Gale.

I don't know what I've stumbled upon, but I'm suddenly afraid of the possibility that what I wanted, was always around.

_Could this really be happening? Was my mind playing tricks on me? Was Peeta back in District 12? _

_**Did he ever really leave?**_

I find myself laughing as I make my way back to the meeting place. I laugh until my stomach hurts, until I cry out of joy.

When I get to Gale, he asks me what's so funny and why I'm empty handed.

"Did you scare off all the creatures with your maniac-esque laughter, Katniss? Good thing that I caught enough for the both of us. We'll have a feast tonight! Let's get going. We're losing daylight."

I follow him through the forest. We crawl through the same hole in the fence that we used earlier and start to drive back to Victor's Village.

Gale notices the smile on my face and misinterprets it.

"Feels good to be in the forest, huh, Katniss? Just like the old times."

"Yup," I reply, beaming.

"You should go back soon, if it makes you so happy. I haven't seen you smile like this in a long while."

I think of the signs of life in the cabin by the lake.

"You know what, Gale? I think I will."

I catch my reflection in the passenger side window. Gale's right. Not even the setting sun could rival the strange and beautiful smile gracing my face.

It is almost as beautiful as my memory of the dandelion.


End file.
